Still Some Ways Off
by mr-raindrops
Summary: Mibuchi and Hayama decides to pay Midorima a visit regarding their dear captain.


**Kuroko no Basuke belongs to Fujimaki Tadatoshi.**

* * *

Still Some Ways Off

.

.

.

"Shuutoku?" Hayama blinks, tugs his shirt down to cover his stomach. He closes his locker with a clang that echoes throughout the empty changing room. "The orange team?"

"Yes," Mibuchi says, then specifies. "Midorima Shintarou is there."

"The carrot-guy!"

Mibuchi sighs. He hadn't let up on the nickname ever since watching the video recordings of one of Shuutoku's practice matches. "Yes, he's the carrot-guy. He used to play shougi with Sei-chan a lot, did you know?"

"With Sei-chan? Well, I guess that does make sense. He mentions him a lot." Hayama wrinkles his nose as Mibuchi sprays on his cologne, then coughs. Mibuchi mutters an apology and then sprays air freshener around the entirety of the room for good measure. "I stink. _You_ stink. Wanna go now?"

Mibuchi nods, now that the room smells more like citrus fruit and less like sweaty teenage boys, and then glances gloomily at the showers as they pass by. The renovations are a pain; the showers were fine the way they were, but the athletic department's budget in this school is unbelievable.

He follows Hayama out into the warm evening, breathing in as much of the odourless air as he can. Some of the lights were still on in the classrooms, and Mibuchi thinks he sees a flash of red in one of the windows. He sighs again.

As they walk together back to their dorm building, Hayama asks, "so what about Midorima Shintarou?"

Mibuchi fans himself, wishing he could've already taken a shower. The humidity isn't really helping. "I'm just worried about Sei-chan. Have you noticed? He has bags under his eyes."

"Yeah!" Hayama nods fervently. He probably has no idea where Mibuchi is going with this.

""Anyways, like you said, Sei-chan talks about Midorima-kun a lot, right? They must be close. So," he explains, watching Hayama's widening eyes, "we'll go pay him a visit. Maybe he give us some tips on how to make Sei-chan loosen up."

Hayama's eyes are practically sparkling, although that may just be an effect of the dimming light that falls on his features. "Oh! That's a great idea, Reo-nee!"

Mibuchi tosses his hair out of his eyes, and scoffs. "Of course it is. Just imagine what the poor kid will do to himself when Inter-High rolls around. Imagine Winter Cup."

* * *

They almost get lost on Shuutoku's premises, but somehow they end up in an empty gym that Mibuchi's sure is the one for the first-string, because in the center of the court is the gorilla captain who looks so much more civilized than Nebuya, the first-year point guard with the Hawk Eyes, and the light-haired small forward.

They're already dressed in their school uniforms, so practice must be over for them.

The captain leaves when they slip into the gymnasium, and Hayama waves at the remaining two like they're old friends.

"Miyaji Kiyoshi, right?" he calls brightly. "I didn't see you last year when Rakuzan played Shuutoku!"

Miyaji narrows his eyes. Mibuchi mentally prepares himself for the oncoming chaos that Hayama seems to cause wherever he goes. The point guard, whose name Mibuchi remembers vaguely to be Takao, snickers.

"You're getting on my nerves," Miyaji says. Takao visibly stifles a laugh. "Both of you. Why aren't you in Kyoto right now? Are you spying for Rakuzan?"

"No! We're just gathering information!" Hayama exclaims, and Miyaji's eyebrows twitch dangerously. Takao kneels down onto the gym floor and doubles over.

"He means that we're collecting information on how to handle our captain," he tells them, giving Hayama a pointed stare. "I heard that all of the kids from the Generation of Miracles have...special quirks. Is Midorima Shintarou here?"

Takao wheezes, pushing himself back up, clutching his stomach. All of their eyes are on him. "That's a cute way to put it. _Quirks_."

"Why don't you just go to Seirin or Kaijou," Miyaji snorts, going back to glaring at Mibuchi. "They have no shortage of weirdos there."

Takao almost chokes. "Not that we do, either," Takao manages to catch his breath enough to point out, though barely coherent. Miyaji kicks him in the heels.

"Shut up, I'm trying to divert their attention," he barks, but the look on his face only makes Takao more hysterical. "Why the hell are you even laughing? It's not that funny!"

"You _like_ Midorima!" Takao cackles.

"Hell no, I don't!"

"You even ran to that store across the street that one day we had a game and you thought he wasn't going to attend because his lucky item got broken," Takao reminds him, grinning.

Miyaji looks like he wants to strangle Takao. He looks like he's used to it by now; someone must make that face at him all the time.

"And who was the one who broke it?!"

He jabs Takao's sternum.

"Well." Takao says, and that's that.

Mibuchi feels unjustly sympathetic. "Now, now, you two, calm down. What's in the past is in the past-"

"Shut up, and Takao, wipe that shit-eating grin off your face before I have to throw a pineapple at it," he threatens. "And you! This is trespassing on private properties! I have a whole _pile_ of pineapples in my locker, if you want me to get that for you."

"Why do you have pineapples in your locker?" Hayama pipes up. "Can I have one? I really like pineapples."

Mibuchi wants to face palm. Apparently Miyaji does too, judging from the look on his face.

"Just..." he trails off, as the locker room door swings open. "...please leave already? Midorima, what are you still doing here?"

"Oh, look, it's Shin-chan!" Takao enthusiastically gestures at him to come over. "Extra shooting practice, I bet?"

Midorima's eyes flicker over to Mibuchi and Hayama, but doesn't move from where he stands awkwardly in the doorway, door propped open by his elbow. He's gotten taller since Mibuchi had last seen him in middle school. "I have to be in the best condition possible for Inter-high."

"Loosen up, man! Even Miyaji-senpai here didn't try to make us all throw up today!" It earns him a glare from Miyaji, who seems quite generous with giving them out.

"Go. Shoot. Do whatever, I don't care," Miyaji tells him, then turns on Mibuchi and Hayama again. "I don't know what you're trying to do, but we don't have a guidebook here for 'How to Take Care of the Generation of Miracles', and frankly, I don't think anyone does. But you know, somehow, this team is still intact and we're doing just fine with Kimura and our supply of pineapples and Midorima and his three selfish requests. You go deal with that number four of yours. It's not like they're total destructive forces of nature. Not totally. It'll work out. Go bother Seirin if it doesn't."

"It'll work out," Hayama echoes. "Will it?"

Miyaji has the sour expression where it looks like someone had stuffed a whole lemon into his mouth. "If you didn't get Midorima, then yeah. I'm pretty sure it will. Otherwise, I heard Teikou's sixth man is good with things like this."

"Teikou's sixth man," Hayama repeats in wonder.

"Sei-chani's talked about him a lot. As much as Midorima-kun, probably," Mibuchi muses.

Miyaji doesn't bat an eyelash. "Like I said, go ask Seirin or something."

Midorima walks over. "From Rakuzan?"

"Yes," Mibuchi confirms. "Sei-"

"Akashi's in Rakuzan, I know." Midorima scrutinizes Mibuchi, and he stares back. The guy's got infuriatingly nice lashes. "I heard he was offered the position of captain in your school team."

"He's a pretty good captain, I'd say," Hayama crosses his arms and feigns solemnity as he nods to emphasize his opinion. "Borderline tyrannical at times, but that's a given for people like us."

"For people like you," Mibuchi corrects him dryly, though he shivers a little remembering the instances in the past few months where Akashi's (though it certainly did not _feel_ like it was the Akashi he knew) stare would run chills through every inch of his body. He turns to face Midorima. Out of the corners of his eyes, he can see Miyaji fuming. (But it's not like they're interfering with official practice.) "So. Got any advice? Sei-chan's really been overworking himself. I don't think he's going to last until Inter-High at this rate."

Midorima looks unruffled by the news. "Define overwork."

"Well, let's see. He stays up until midnight...strategizing or something. You know, all that captaincy business. I see the lights on in classrooms and the library, and then he probably still has homework to do after all that," Mibuchi says. "I think it's taking its toll on him. I mean, I really don't think he has the time to sleep properly. He's working so hard."

(And he wonders why Akashi does.)

Midorima raises a brow, and doesn't say anything for a moment. Hayama fidgets. Eventually, he tells them,"he's always been like that", turning to make his way to one of the hoops.

Mibuchi isn't sure what he means by that, but he protests, "he has bags under his eyes." Midorima stops midstep. "He's going to faint or something in the middle of practice, and then we'll have to carry him to the nurse's office-"

Midorima glances at him over his shoulder, and Mibuchi's words are involuntarily cut off with a sharp exhalation of breath. "Akashi knows what he's doing. He's not so stupid as to ruining his health."

"But he _is_ ruining his health," Mibuchi insists. "Doing a pretty good job of it too."

Midorima just sighs. "I can't help you with that. If you're so worried, you should just go bother him about it. Otherwise, good luck, you'll need it."

He positions himself at the three-point line, Mibuchi watching helplessly.

A hand lands on his back. "What Shin-chan means by that is," Takao gives his back a light pat, "he doesn't know how to deal with Akashi either. But you know those quirks we were talking about earlier? You kinda just have to learn to deal with it, and then it gets so much more bearable."

"How did you deal with it?" Hayama asks.

Takao blinks, "well, I'm still in the middle of figuring it out." His eyes avert to Midorima's form on the court. Mibuchi's gaze follows.

"Done prattling?" Miyaji drawls, hidden malice in his tone, and Mibuchi nearly jumps. "If you're satisfied now, please go away and never come back."

"You seem angry," Hayama comments. "Are you always like this? You could use an off-day."

Takao's eyes are shining with glee when he refocuses on their conversation.

"Pineapples tend to hurt when it makes contact with your skull," Miyaji suggests, shooting Takao a withering look.

"We're going, we're going." Mibuchi pulls Hayama to the door before the guy really does decide to demonstrate this pineapple-artillery thing of his. "Sorry for dropping in unannounced."

Hayama says, as they pass by, "thanks for not kicking us out earlier", and Mibuchi pauses as the ball sails from Midorima's fingertips, up, up, up, then drops to complete that miraculous arc. There's a muted swish as the ball falls through the basket, and he is mesmerized. It takes several tugs from Hayama before Mibuchi blinks back into reality.

"Let's go, Reo-nee."

Mibuchi follows him into the quickly cooling evening, and they head towards the train station.

* * *

"Midorima Shintarou," Mibuchi says. The name rolls off his tongue so naturally; it always did, though it's been a while now. "He's something, huh? Even more amazing when you see him up close."

Hayama is quiet, doesn't comment, but he nods nonetheless.

"Those three's are ridiculous," he continues, and chuckles. It sounds grating to his ears, so he stops. He checks his phone. Fifteen more minutes until the train arrives.

They don't speak, until about one minute before the train is due to show up.

"I wanna play basketball right now." Hayama gives Mibuchi a look he knows all too well. They all do, he thinks. "I wanna _practice_."

The train whizzes by, a blur of streaks and lines, sweeping wind through their hair. It's weird, really - how a sliver of hope can make a person work so hard for the most unlikely things.

Mibuchi smiles. "Me too."

* * *

**A/N: **written for Tokumeisan at AO3 who came up with the prompt during the Touch Pass challenge hosted by Basketball Poet Society

(i'm really really slow also what is characterization and titling bye)


End file.
